Collide
by laughingnobody
Summary: It's not couple's counseling. At least Dean thinks it's not. [Highschool AU]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **Wow, I started this High School AU months ago, and I finally got around to posting it after a friend beta'd the first few chapters. Hope you enjoy!

-This story takes place in third person limited and switches between Dean and Cas' POV on occasion.

-Time Stamps are bolded.

* * *

**Sometime in May in a dirty school counselor's office:**

"What's the nature of your relationship?"

A pause.

"Are you two friends?"

"Something along those lines," Castiel mutters at the same time Dean says, "Sort of."

The counselor looks between the two before marking something on his paper. "How much do you know about each other?" He asks.

"Too much." Castiel sighs and Dean glances at him.

"Yeah, what he said." He points to the blue-eyed boy next to him, who avoids his stare.

"Tell me a thing or two about you guys." The counselor continues.

"He used to run track." Castiel motions his hand towards Dean.

"Cas dances in his underwear."

"_Dean_."

"Why'd you stop?" The counselor asks Dean, disregarding the comment.

"I got pregnant." Dean replies sarcastically.

The counselor sighs and makes another mark on his paper. "How long have you known each other?" He takes his glasses off and sets them next to a coffee mug.

"Last September." The two boys say together. Castiel folds his hands in his lap.

The counselor, once again, makes a mark on his paper and looks up. "Do I need to know anything else important?"

"We were, um," Dean starts, "sort of together. If that counts."

"What he means to say is: we sleep together. Or slept." Castiel says bluntly, leaning forward in the soft chair.

"_Cas_," Dean warns. He rubs a callused hand through his short hair.

"What, it's not like he's going to be jealous, Dean."

The counselor makes a fourth mark on his paper.

"What are you marking about us?" Dean says harshly and leans over the desk, knocking the mug over. Dark brown liquid seeps into surrounding papers and the smell of coffee fills the room. The counselor sighs and dabs the spill with tissues.

"What are you marking?" Dean repeats. Castiel pulls a few tissues out of the box and attempts to clean up his friend's mess, but the counselor shoos his hand away.

"Dean, he's here to help us. Let him do his job." Castiel slumps in his chair and closes his eyes.

"Well if he was really doing his damn job, we'd be out of here by now. This isn't damn couple's counseling, Cas." Dean turns to face Castiel, who has his fingers massaging his temples.

"Well if _you_ were doing _your_ damn job of being a good partner, we wouldn't even be here. Please continue." Castiel sighs and gestures to the counselor.

"Wow, Cas. That was completely UNCALLED for." Both the counselor and Cas ignore him.

"Just a few more questions." The counselor says.

"You get _one_ more question." Dean snarls, but sinks back into the chair, defeated.

"Alrighty then, how did you guys meet?"

* * *

**Some Friday last September: **

Dean ran around the track once more before stopping to take a break. He sat down on the grass, arms over his head, heavily breathing. He grabbed his water bottle, downing it in seconds, and shook the remaining drops over his face.

"Good job, today, sport." Dean looked up and saw his coach, whistle in mouth, standing above him. "You smell like a horse's ass," he continued. "Go shower." Dean nodded and waved briefly before getting up.

Sweat clung to Dean's thighs and made them stick as he walked through the overgrown grass back to the school. He pulled the door open with the last of his energy and headed towards the locker rooms. It smelled like someone took a shit fifty times and Dean let out a groan, holding his breath until he got to his locker. He yanked it open and grabbed his clothes, unintentionally slamming it shut and wincing at the loud sound.

The shower room was steamy from other runners, football players, basketball shooters, and soccer kickers, who Dean was sure used all the hot water. There was only one other person in the shower, and they occupied the one furthest left. Dean walked to the one on the very right, leaving his clothes out on the gum covered bench. He took his shorts off and left them in the stack before walking awkwardly to his chosen body washer. Dean turned the shower on and let out a yelp when the cold water touched his skin.

Once he got the temperature of the water to the highest it would go, Dean reached for the soap bar and dropped it when he saw pieces of short curly hair on it.

"Oh, fuck me. That's disgusting," he muttered and decided to just leave the soap on the tiled floor. Dean continued showering soapless, and did his best to cool his body in the not-so-warm water. He hummed a few songs by ACDC and stopped when he suddenly heard feet running across the floor from outside followed by laughter. Dean turned the water off, hoping that whoever was outside didn't do what he thought they did. He pulled the curtain back, using one hand to cover his crotch, and sucked in a breath when the bench in front of him was empty. The only clothing garment that was left was one sock on the floor. Even his shoes were gone.

"Son of a bi—" Dean started as he stepped out, grabbing a towel. His foot slipped on the soap bar and he fell back, hitting his head on the faucet as he went down.

Dean woke sometime later. He sat up groggily and squinted his eyes into the bright light. His head ached and he rubbed it, feeling a slight bump in the back. He just had the worst dream about how someone stole his clothes while he was showering. Dean looked around and panicked when he saw that he was still in the shower room, lying on the bench, and someone had strung a towel loosely over his crotch. The sock on the floor was still there and realization struck Dean as he jumped up on his feet. The towel dropped to the floor and the boy picked it up quickly and ran out of the shower room, cursing under his breath.

Dean's still-wet feet made him lose his balance once or twice, and he almost fell when he pulled the shower room doors open. The locker rooms still smelled like shit and Dean held his breath as peered through the rows of the lockers, looking for his missing clothes. He heard the noise of someone's feet slapping on the floor from his left, and Dean turned the corner, running straight into that someone. Dean's slippery feet gave in and he fell, the other guy landing on top of him.

"What the fuck." Dean gasped as the wind was knocked out of him

"I should be saying the same thing!" He heard the voice say above him. Dean wheezed, and when he finally caught his breath, he glanced up into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. The other boy stared back. Droplets from his wet hair fell on to Dean's face. There was a moment of silence until Dean noticed that sometime in the fall, their towels were strewn across the floor. Dean's eyes widened.

"Woah, woah." Dean bent his knees and tried to use his wet feet to slide from beneath the guy. The only thing Dean managed to accomplish was moving them both a few inches to the side. "Not gay. _Not_ gay. Okay, maybe a _little_ gay." He smirked and Blue Eyes cocked his head. "But so _not_ the point." Dean continued.

Dean was very aware of the firm body on top of him and it was making him very self-conscious. He looked up and noticed that Blue Eyes' eyes were just as wide from shock.

"Could you, um," Dean whispered.

"What?"

"You know, get the hell of me?"

"Oh."

The boy scrambled to get off Dean, but with all the water and heat, his body plopped right back onto Dean's. They avoided eye contact as they struggled like slugs to separate, noses bumping against one another's occasionally.

"Oh, Jesus." Dean stiffened when the boy placed warm hands on the runner's chest and heaved himself off.

Dean sat up and spun around on his butt, grabbing one of the towels and covering himself.

"Wha-what the hell are you doing? Give me my fucking clothes back." Dean demanded and backed up against the cold lockers, trying to keep his gaze from Blue Eyes' body.

"Calm down. I didn't take your clothes. As you can probably tell, I'm not wearing any either." The boy said, grabbing the other towel from the floor and wrapping it awkwardly around his waist. Dean gave him an annoyed look.

"Well, no shit. It's not like it's fucking hard to notice either."

"Could you go one sentence without having the need to speak obscene language? It's making me very uncomfortable." Blue Eyes sighed and stood up. The towel was a little small and the boy accidentally flashed Dean, who looked away immediately.

"_You're _making me uncomfortable!" Dean yelled.

"There we go. Wasn't so hard was it?" Blue Eyes gave him a grim smile. "And that's a nice apology for someone who probably saved you from getting you a concussion."

"What?"

"You slipped, you fell." The boy shrugged and started walking away. "The feeling is mutual by the way." He called, and Dean heard the locker room door open then shut.

* * *

**Sometime in May in a dirty school counselor's office:**

"So you fell on him. Naked." The counselor is choking back a laugh and Dean rolls his eyes.

"Actually, Dean ran into me." Castiel clarifies with him, but the counselor is too busy wiping tears from his eyes.

"You used to call me Blue Eyes?" Castiel asks Dean, who smiles bashfully and looks away, nodding his head.

"Did you ever find out who took your clothes?" The counselor asks when he's able to breathe again.

"No, but we did find Cas's boxers hanging from the flagpole." Dean says and smirks to his friend.

"Yes, and he won't let me live that one down. How pathetic." Castiel gives him a light punch on the arm.

"They were pink." Dean tells the counselor, who has his hand over his mouth in shock.

"They were _salmon_." Castiel corrects. Dean and the counselor continue to laugh silently.

"Can we move on please?" Castiel asks, ignoring them.

"Yes, yes, course." The counselor waves him off.

* * *

** The same Friday last September: **

"One more." Dean slammed his shot glass on the counter and slid it over to Jo, who sighed and refilled it.

_I think I'm goin' to Katmandu _

_That's really really where I'm goin' to_

"Dean, this is your fifth one. In less than twenty minutes." The blonde sighed as she slid the glass back over. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Trust me. You don't want to know."

"Try me."

"_K-K-K-K-K-Katmandu_." Dean sang and downed his shot, feeling the alcohol burn in the back of his throat. He shook his head to the music.

"Why? What happened?" Jo pushed.

"Can we drop it?"

"Alright." She held her hands up in defense. "No need to PMS about it."

The bar door jingled as someone walked in, making Dean's head ring.

"Damn it, Jo. You ever gonna take that fucking bell down?" He yelled.

"Wow, I guess I'll call Bobby and tell him to put tampons on the grocery list." Jo raised her eyebrows in a smirk, looking over his shoulder to see who it was.

_I got no kick against the west coast_

_Warner brothers are such good hosts_

"I am not—never mind." Dean tucked his head beneath his arms and slouched onto the counter.

He should hear Jo shuffling over to another customer on Dean's right, and they ordered water. Dean felt around for the shot glass and held it between his fingers as he heard Jo's feet make their way back to him.

"One more, Jo. Please." Dean said sweetly, lifting his head up. Jo was filling a plastic cup with water. She set it down looked at Dean, who gave her his best puppy dog face.

"Last one, Winchester." She took his shot glass and filled it before bringing the other guy his water.

"I won't tell your mother you're serving under aged people drinks." Dean swirled the glass in his hand.

_But now I'm leavin' and I can't be late_

_And to myself be true_

"It's not me I'm worried about." Jo retorted.

"Long day?" Dean heard from beside him but didn't look to check who asked the question.

"Long year." Dean answered and chugged his sixth shot, holding the bitter liquid in his mouth.

"I know the feeling." The guy said before taking a sip of his water through a bendy straw.

Dean brought the shot glass up to his eye and peered through it like a telescope.

_That's why I'm going to Katmandu, up to the mountains where I'm goin' to_

_And if I ever get out of here, that's what I'm gonna do_

He looked towards the guy next to him and choked on the alcohol. It was Blue Eyes.

_K-K-K-K-K-Katmandu_

* * *

**Sometime in May in a dirty school counselor's office:**

"Wait, Joanna Harvelle? She's your age!" The counselor throws his hands up. "And she's serving you alcohol? Kids these days," he mutters.

"In my defense, I ordered a water." Castiel points out.

"Right. And who the fuck orders water, Cas? In a bar." Dean places his hands on the side of his chair and swivels to face Castiel.

"How did you even get in anyway?" Dean continues. "I mean, I'm only allowed because I've known Jo for more than half my life." His voice is teasing.

"Um, Gabriel snagged me a fake ID." Castiel answers.

"And the first thing you do is go to a bar, and you order water? And, Cas, baby, no offense, but you don't look a day over 18. Let alone 21. Did you somehow bride your way in with a blow—"

"Hey, hey! Woah. Let's keep it PG-13, shall we? Continue please." The counselor interrupts.

"Alright." Dean leans back in his chair and rests his head in his hands.

* * *

**Still the same Friday last September: **

"Woah." Ellen thumped on his back. Alcohol dribbled out of his mouth and onto the floor. "Jesus Christ, Dean. See, this is exactly the reason why you shouldn't drink. I'm gonna need a talk with Bobby."

"Mom, he's fine." Dean heard Jo say, and then Ellen sighed.

"Ellen, I would've choked on water." Dean slurred, bent over. A pair of sneakers came into vision.

"Is he okay?" A familiar voice asked and Dean coughed.

"He's fine." Jo repeated.

"Where's his car?" Ellen pulled her hand away from Dean's back peered through the bar's window into the dark lot.

"At his place. I drove him here." Jo told her. Dean saw her fidget her hands nervously. Ellen was sure to ban him from the bar now.

"I'm gonna call Bobby and tell him to pick his poor kid up." Ellen sighed and thumped Dean's back again, who wheezed.

"No, I can take him home." Blue Eyes insisted. "We're both on the track team so we carpool sometimes," he lied.

"You're not—oomph!" Dean started, but Blue Eyes gave a light punch to his side to shut him up.

"I had a water if it makes you feel any better." The boy told Ellen quickly.

"Alright. If you say so." Ellen hung the receiver up and walked away.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Dean." Jo gave him a worried look and turned back to the counter.

"But it's Saturday." He said and Jo waved him off.

Blue Eyes practically dragged Dean outside. He opened the passenger side of his car and forced Dean's heavily muscled legs in. When he was about to close the door, Dean grabbed his arm, preventing him from shutting it.

"Thanks." Dean grumbled and dropped his arm. Blue Eyes closed the door slowly and walked to the other side of the car, crawling in the front seat.

"Just give me the directions to your house and I'll drop you off." He murmured and started the engine.

The first ten minutes of the ride was silent except for the occasional "turn right/left" Dean gave the boy. Dean couldn't help glancing at Blue Eyes every few seconds, watching his blue eyes flicker around the road and his mouth curl. His hands gripped the steering wheel hard.

"Something wrong?" Dean asked, sober enough to know that the atmosphere was tense.

"Oh. No." Blue Eyes responded and Dean watched his face soften and the grip on the steering wheel loosen.

"Then turn that frown upside-down." Dean used two fingers to pull his own mouth into a smile. Castiel gave him a fake smile, but Dean was too drunk to know the difference. There was a pause.

"Hey, I'm real sorry for causing you all this trouble." Dean looked at him and shifted in his seat until his knees were up to his chin.

"It's fine, Dean." Blue Eyes gave him a genuine smile and Dean gave a drunken one back.

"You know," Dean started, his smile broadening, but that may have just been the alcohol, "it's funny how you know my name, but I don't know yours," he babbled.

"Yes, and we attend the same school." Blue Eyes added.

"Yeah! And apparently you know I'm on the track team! I don't even know what you—"

"Castiel." The boy cut his rambles off.

"Excuse me?"

"Castiel." He repeated.

"Oh, I'm Dean." Dean stuck out a hand.

"Yes, I know that much." Castiel lifted and eyebrow and shook Dean's hand, keeping the other on the wheel.

"So why'd you lie to Ellen about being on the track team? Unless you are and I'm just too drunk to know right now." Dean asked as he hung on to Castiel's hand.

"You can tell people anything these days and they'll believe it."

"Oh. Makes sense. Take a left here. Or was it a right?" Dean let go of Castiel's hand and pointed at random directions. "No, I'm pretty sure it was left." He let out another drunken smile as Castiel turned the car to the left. Another silence followed.

"Hey, about this afternoon, you know, in the locker room." Dean started. Castiel took a moment to look off the road and glanced at Dean.

"Did I really make you uncomfortable?" Dean asked at the same time Castiel said, "I had Coke spilled on me."

"Oh. Okay, yeah, I see now why you were in the athlete showers." Dean sputtered awkwardly. Castiel made a sound that sounded like "Mhm" before returning his eyes to the road. A third silence followed.

"I'm not usually like this." Dean shifted in his seat again and turned to face Castiel. "And I don't think I ever ask this when I'm sober, but how do you get your body so fit like that?"

"What?"

"When you fell on me," Dean continued, amused, "I noticed your body was _really_ fit. And apparently you don't do sports?"

"Dean," Castiel said quietly. "You're very drunk."

"No, man. I'm serious. Like you gotta give me some tips or something."

"Shut up, Dean." Castiel groaned, but Dean could hear a slight hint of pride in his voice.

"Like, you must be swarming with the ladies." Dean laughed, ignoring Castiel and enjoying the blush creeping up his face.

"Right. Of course. But, um, you're not so bad yourself." He gestured to Dean.

"Are you flirting with me?" Dean asked playfully, raising an eyebrow.

"Wha-what? No. Are _you_ flirting with me?" Castiel gaped his mouth open in surprise.

"Hmm. I don't know. But I do know that you are definitely flirting with me." Dean poked his ribs, making Castiel squirm.

"Castiel, pull over." Dean said suddenly.

"I'm on the left lane. I can't—"

"Pull over." Dean repeated. Castiel sighed and maneuvered the car into an empty lot, ignoring the honks other drivers gave him.

"What do you want?" He turned to Dean, but Dean was already stumbling out of the car and hurling whatever he had in his stomach onto the ground. Then he slumped on the pavement and Castiel gave another sigh.

* * *

**The day after the Friday of last September:**

Castiel drew back the curtains, exposing the sun through the window.

"Oh my god." He heard Dean moan from the floor, where he was curled up in fetal position.

"Wake up." He hit Dean with a pillow and the boy peeked an eye open.

"Get up. You have to go home." Castiel continued, and Dean shut his eye.

"This isn't my carpet." Dean's voice came muffled.

"You passed out." Castiel explained as Dean struggled to put two and two together.

"Dean, I know you're tired and hung over, but you really have to leave." Castiel hit him with the pillow again, and Dean stretched out his sore limbs, making cracking noises. He was vaguely aware of Castiel watching him.

"Dean. Get up." Castiel repeated when a knock came from downstairs.

"What time is it?" Dean sat straight up and rubbed his head.

Castiel looked at his watch. "It's almost noon," he answered.

"And you have guests over?"

"Something along those lines," Castiel told him before leaving the room. Dean heard his feet trample down the stairs and then the sound of a door being opened.

A low murmur filled the air as Dean got up in his feet. He noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt and was stripped down to his boxers. He grabbed his jeans from the back of a chair and neglected to find his shirt.

Dean was slipping on a pair of jeans as he made his way down the unfamiliar spiral staircase. They were a lot fancier than the ones at his place, with a chandelier hanging by a thing string from the ceiling. Dean only had one leg through when Castiel walked around the corner with a blonde guy on his arm he recognized from math class. Dean paused and cocked his head. He didn't think that Castiel seemed like the type of person who played for the other team. But then again, he thought Castiel didn't think Dean was either.

"Dean." Castiel acknowledged stiffly, as if he was seeing him for the first time that day.

"Dean?" The blonde repeated, rubbing a thumb over Castiel's arm. Dean didn't like the way the blonde said his name, like he rolling a needle over his tongue and spitting it out.

"Sorry. I'll be out of your way." Dean gave a quick smile and pulled his jeans on all the way, jumping up and down when they wouldn't go past his butt. He zipped them up and looked up to see Castiel staring at Dean's chest. Dean suddenly felt self-conscious.

"Oh. I couldn't find my shirt," he shrugged, glancing down. His stomach twisted into a knot.

"Clearly." The way the blonde guy hung onto Castiel reminded Dean of a leech.

"Balthazar." Castiel warned. The food in Dean's system threatened to make a reappearance.

"I'll be right back. I washed your shirt because it hard vomit on it." Castiel explained to Dean and, as if marking his territory, Balthazar kissed his ear before he left Dean and Balthazar alone in the hallway.

"So what's a fellow like you doing in Cassie's home on a nice Saturday morning?" Balthazar asked in a deep British accent. He looked at Dean like a bug that needed squashing. By an anvil.

"'Cassie'?" Dean repeated. "No, um, it's not what you think. I got a little wasted last night, and, uh, Castiel offered to drive me home, but I passed out before we got there."

"I see." Balthazar clicked his tongue and checked his watch as Dean's stomach violently lurched again. "I wonder why Cassie is taking so long. We have to be due at the restaurant in half an hour." He passed Dean and headed up the stairs just as Castiel emerged from his bedroom, Dean's shirt in hand.

"Here. It's not completely dry, but you'll manage I hope." Castiel moved swiftly down the stairs and Dean walked up two steps at a time and took the shirt from him, pulling it over his head.

"Thanks." He muttered and followed Balthazar and Castiel down the stairs.

"Pleasure meeting you." Balthazar said grimly when they got to the bottom steps and stuck a hand out to Dean, who hesitantly shook it.

"Nice to meet you t—" Dean started, right before feeling a burning sensation in his throat he knew he couldn't stop. He leaned over involuntarily, still clutching the British guy's hand, and promptly threw up over Balthazar's shiny white shoes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sometime in May in a dirty school counselor's office:**

"Oh, Dean." Castiel sighs. "Those shoes were quite expensive too." He pulls the sleeve of his shirt on his right arm and looks at his friend, who head is buried in his hands.

"Yeah, don't remind me." Dean mutters. "Balthazar gave me the stink eye for weeks."

"And stink nose too, I imagine." Castiel says with a grin and Dean sticks his tongue out like a child, making Castiel laugh.

The counselor is holding coffee covered tissues in his hand and tosses them at Dean, who throws his hands up in protest.

"So then what happened?" The counselor asks impatiently. He taps his pen on the desk and the two boys exchange looks.

"Dean's better at story telling." Castiel says quickly before his friend has a chance to open his mouth. Dean grunts, but leans back in his chair.

"Well…"

* * *

**The Sunday after the Saturday of last September**

_Beep beep beep beep._

_Thump._

_Beep beep beep beep._

_Thump._

"Urghh. Turn the goddamn microwave off, Sammy." Dean moaned. He rolled over in his bed and squinted at the clock. It blinked 8:30am. He buried his face in his pillow and closed his eyes.

_Beep beep beep beep._

_Thump._

Dean chucked the covers aside and crawled out of his bed, stumbling towards the window on wobbly feet and pulling the curtain aside. A wheel loader in the empty lot next to his house beeped as it held up dirt, then dropping it with a thud. Dean stared as the loader repeated its actions a few times more before rubbing his bedhead and taking a trip to the bathroom to relieve himself.

"Well, you're up early for once." Bobby commented, not looking up from his newspaper when Dean walked into the kitchen a while later. A steaming pot of coffee was sitting on the counter. Dean grabbed his favorite green mug from the cabinet and filled it with the dark liquid slowly, careful not to spill, then took a sip.

_Beep beep beep beep._

_Thump._

"People still read newspapers?" Dean leaned back on the counter, plaid boxers shielding his ass cheeks from the cold granite—butt frostbite is no laughing matter.

"Not everything that's older than you is ancient, Dean." Bobby answered. He turned the page to the Sunday comics, laughing quietly to himself at the Garfield strip. Dean took another sip.

"Yeah, but anything that's older than you is." Dean teased, laughing into his cup.

"Funny."

"Yeah, I am pretty funny."

"Did your dad call back yet?" Bobby asked, changing the subject. He folded the newspaper in half and set it on the table, looking up towards Dean.

As far as Dean knew, John Winchester could either be a Secret Service Agent on a mission or a friggin' rock star touring the Continental United States. John left for work on Mondays, a quick cream-cheesed bagel and a goodbye to his boys, and then he's out the door. Gone. Poof. Then John would come back on Tuesday. Of the week after.

For a while, pre-Bobby era, Dean was okay with it. Totally cool with the whole dad-disappearing-magic-act. He was used to making dinner for Sam, ramen noodles every night were easy and effortless. He was used to the silent agreement of how they ate Lucky Charms, Dean would eat the marshmallows, Sam would eat the actual cereal part. He was used to taking Sam to the library to _read_ (seriously, who does that?).

Enter post-Bobby era, who told John Winchester to get his shit together and take care of his sons. John left for a month after that incident, and came back to find Sam and Dean living with none other than Bobby Singer. Child protective services would separate the two. Not an option if you're dealing with the Winchesters.

Bobby got the foam finger with _#1 Dad!_ printed on it for father's day that year.

"Don't know. I didn't check." Dean told his surrogate father.

_Beep beep beep beep._

_Thump._

"Hmph." Bobby grunted and then went back to reading, flicking open an article titled _Stretching Your Dollar_ with one hand.

"What's up with newspapers? They're like…paper blogs." A raspy voice drifted into the kitchen. Sam entered moments later, his own bed head worse than Dean's.

"Mornin', Sam." Bobby acknowledged, ignoring his comment.

"Morning." Sam replied sleepily. The he frowned.

"Uh oh. Why so serious?" Dean asked his little brother, imitating the Joker's tone and poking Sam's side.

He sighed. "There's this girl, we were talking on Friday, and—" Sam started, but Dean quickly cut him off, shaking his head and swallowing the tepid coffee in his mouth at the same time.

"No, no, no, let me leave first before I'm forced to listen to another one of your soap operas." Dean set his mug on the table.

"As opposed to your stupid sport talk?"

"At least I get some action from it." Dean retorted. He ruffled his brother's hair and then left Bobby and Sam alone in the kitchen.

Dean sprinted up the stairs—thank god for track, right?—back to his room then locked the door behind him, eyes already aiming for yesterday's jeans that were hung over the bed frame. He searched through the pockets for his phone, desperate to check if John left any messages.

Dean panicked when his hands met with empty fabric. He looked under the bed, between the blankets of the mattress, dumping all his clothes and checking in his laundry basket, but his phone was better at hide-and-seek than Sam's dead hamster. Dean sat his bed and racked through his brain for the places he thought he might have been at with his phone.

Castiel's name popped up in his mind. Dean groaned. As cool as Castiel was with cleaning up a drunk Dean, Dean knew he wouldn't be welcomed to Castiel's home after yesterday's incident with Balthazar. _But you gotta do what you gotta do_, he thought.

_Beep beep beep beep._

_Thump._

Dean pulled the pair of jeans over his boxers, not caring if they smelled a bit like vomit, almost tripping down the stairs as he fumbled with the belt buckle. He walked to the back door and instinctively reached out to grab his keys from the hook, but when his hands felt air, he turned around and stalked back to the kitchen. Sam and Bobby were still there, Bobby acting as if he wasn't paying any attention to Sam's words, which he probably wasn't.

"And then Jess sort of smiled at me? I'm not sure." Sam was saying.

"Bobby, do you have my keys?" Dean asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Why, you goin' somewhere, boy?"

"Yeah, I left my phone at a friend's house. Now can I please have my keys to get there?" Dean demanded.

"Uh, no. I don't think so." Bobby took a sip of his coffee.

"Why not?"

"You don't get it do you, son?" Bobby looked at him with such concern, that Dean almost wished he hadn't asked for his keys. "Damn you," Bobby continued, "I almost had a heart attack when Ellen called yesterday mornin', tellin' me some crap about how you went home with someone she didn't know and that you were too drunk to know who either," he snapped. This was Sam's cue to leave, and the chair scraped the floor when he stood up and left.

"I—I'm sorry, Bobby. I didn't realize—" Dean took a step back, surprised and confused at Bobby's sudden anger. Bobby never scolded him for crashing at someone's house for the night after he drank too much. He didn't see how Castiel was different.

"Of course you didn't. You never do. And what would've happened if you knocked 'er up, Dean? We—_you_ don't have what it takes for that kind of commitment." Bobby stopped to take a breath and Dean furrowed his eyebrows, confused. He took the short pause as an opportunity to speak.

"Bobby, I went home with this guy from school." Dean clarified, speaking slowly, because truth be told, Bobby wasn't getting any younger. A look of realization dawned on the older man's face as Dean sputtered them out. Then Bobby's eyes shot up, expression telling Dean his exact thoughts.

"What? No! Gross. Nothing happened. He's, uh, he's on my track team." Dean backtracked quickly. There was a short pause as Bobby narrowed his eyes, trying to decide if Dean was lying to him or not.

"What's 'is name?"

"Uh, Castiel. Novak I think?"

_Beep beep beep beep._

_Thump._

"Novak? Huh, nice folks." Bobby's face softened and he took a sip of coffee.

"Can I have my keys now?" Dean hopped from one foot to the other.

"No, ya idjit. I'm drivin'." Bobby added, patting his shirt pocket. Dean heard a jingle. "And for the rest of the week you can take the damn bus to school. Hopefully by then you'll learn your lesson," he muttered.

"Fine. Can _we _go now?" Dean asked impatiently.

"Later. It's a Sunday. His family probably at church or somethin'." Bobby mumbled under his breath.

"Bobby." Dean whined.

"Dean." Bobby echoed, mimicking his tone. "I said we'll go later, so stop your bitchin' and take a Midol or somethin'." Dean let out a sigh, knowing there was no way he was going to win the argument.

"Fine." He said and plopped himself on the couch for some extra shut eye, the wheel loader beeping and thumping in the background.

* * *

When Bobby drove up to Castiel's house, he threatened to make Dean walk home if he didn't return within five minutes.

"I mean it, boy!" He yelled when Dean snorted and stepped out of the car.

There were multiple cars surrounding the house and parked in the driveway with different colored lights streaming from every window of the house. Dean could hear the muffled thumping of music coming from the house and he wondered if he got the address wrong.

As he walked up the marble steps leading to Castiel's house, Dean thought about every possible apology.

_I'm sorry I upchucked on your shiny white floor that probably costs more than my house. _

_I'm sorry I got drunk and made you waste gas, but, hey, at least you got to take my pants off._

_ I'm sorry I ruined your date that was bound to go wrong anyway since your boyfriend is a huge dick._

Dean rapped on the door twice before noticing the doorbell. He pushed the button and pressed his ear to the glass, listening for a chime. A blurred figure came to the door and Dean stepped back when it opened.

"Hey, I think I left my—" He started, but the person who opened the door wasn't Castiel. Loud music blared in the background, making Dean's ears wince.

"Wow, you're here early," they said. Dean looked the guy over. He was a young guy in his twenties, dark hair like Castiel's, but brown eyes. "You're not due for," he checked his watch, "another hour. Lou isn't here yet."

"Uh, sorry?" Dean asked, confused. Bobby honked the car and Dean waved him off.

"And I thought—" the guy looked over Dean's shoulder then stepped back to run his eyes over Dean's body. "They said White Chocolate was their best, but I guess I should've asked if White Chocolate came with breasts."

"Hey, man." Dean snapped his fingers, somewhat offended.

"Who's at the door, Gabriel? Is it the pizza guy?" Someone out sight called.

"No, it's the stripper!" Gabriel yelled back. Dean's eyes widened. Gabriel stepped out onto the welcome mat and pulled the door behind him, leaving a thin gap. He was shorter than Dean, but obviously a few years older.

"I was expecting a lot more glitter too _and_ a police costume." Gabriel continued. "Lucifer won't be too happy. Well, beggars can't be choosers, eh?"

"The fuck you talkin' about?" Dean demanded, finding his voice.

"You _are_ the stripper, aren't you? For my friend's twenty-first?" Gabriel narrowed his eyes, looking suspiciously like an older Castiel. "Lou was expecting a lady dancer, sorry 'bout that. Aw, damn it, now I have to complain. Costumer service can be a bitch these days," he trailed off.

"What? No. I'm a—" Friend? Acquaintance? Buddy? "—classmate of Castiel's. Is he here?" Dean finished lamely.

"Oh. This just got awkward." Gabriel said, eyebrows shooting up. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Uh, no. Cas is out with that British douchewad, Ballastar or something." Dean gave a small grin, taking an immediate liking to Gabriel. "Sorry, what did you say you were here for?"

"I didn't—I left my phone here, I think? I was here yesterday." Dean peered into the house.

"Well, sure, come on in. Any friend of the little bro's is a friend of mine."

Dean walked into the house hesitantly, trying to avoid hitting his head on the streamers hanging from the chandelier and lights. The spot where he threw up was wiped clean of any evidence, but the lights were dim so it was hard to tell.

"I'm Gabriel, by the way. Castiel's awesome older brother if you haven't noticed yet." The guy introduced himself.

"Dean."

"Woah. _The_ Dean?" Gabriel stopped walking and looked at him, astonished.

"What other Deans does Castiel know?" Dean asked, confused again.

"One, as far as I'm concerned." Gabriel let out a hearty laugh. "You're the one who puked on the blondie's shoes? You know the one with the funny hair?" Gabriel waved a hand over his head.

"Did Castiel tell you that?"

"I'll take that as a hell yes." Gabriel slapped him on the back, hard, and Dean coughed. "Nicely done, Dean-o. Cas needs more friends like you." Dean didn't know how to respond to that.

"He the stripper?" Another guy sitting on a couch yelled over the loud music and jolted his thumb in Dean's direction. Dean reddened. "He's a little macho, isn't he?" the guy continued. "Didn't know Lou was into that kind of stuff."

"No. Shut the fuck up, Mike. He's my new best friend. Does he look like a stripper?" Gabriel shouted back.

"I don't know. He's a little young. Like a puppy?"

The doorbell rang, saving Dean from more embarrassment.

"Uh," Gabriel said, looking between the door and Dean. "Go upstairs and get your phone. I'm pretty sure it's on his desk or something. You know which room it is right?"

"Yeah, the one on the left."

"Okay, I'm not gonna even ask how you know what." Gabriel patted his back then turned and left him. Dean jogged up the stairs, taking two at a time, and heard a cheery "Aye! Happy birthday, motherfucker!" from downstairs.

Dean walked to Castiel's room and opened the door. The room was dark except for the glowing clock on the nightstand. Dean flicked the lights on and looked around the area. The room was nearly three times the size of Dean's and he walked around, observing knick knacks he hadn't noticed before. Castiel had the largest collection of drawing utensils and there were random sketches scattered on a desk shoved into one corner of the room. The floor was littered with balled up papers like they were mindlessly thrown to the already over-filled trashcan.

Dean's phone was perched on the desk, as Gabriel promised, with a sticky note pasted on it that said "Dean" in neatly written letters. He unstuck the note and left it on a pile of papers. Dean pressed a button on his phone, heart sinking when the notification inbox was empty. He grabbed a stray pen and scribbled "Thanks" under his name before turning the lights off and leaving the room.

Dean padded down the stairs and a guy with a paper cone strapped to his head passed by, catching Dean's eye and stopping in his tracks, Gabriel following close behind.

"Hey, Gabe, I thought you said your fucking kid brother wasn't gonna be here." Lucifer, Dean presumed, complained. "I don't wanna go to jail for serving alcohol to a minor."

"Okay, first of all, that's not my 'fucking kid brother', and second of all, would you relax? He's just picking something up." Gabriel explained, shoving Lucifer into the living room.

"Whatever. This is my day, and if I get into trouble, you're going down with me." Lucifer threatened, giving in to Gabriel's pushes.

"Yeah, that's definitely _not_ ironic for someone who shares a name with the devil." Gabriel said sarcastically. "Best if you leave, Dean-o." He told the boy as Mike opened the front door, and then Dean was being hustled out, followed by the front door slamming in his face.

* * *

**Sometime in May in a dirty school counselor's office:**

"Gabriel Novak? I believe I counseled him in his freshman year when he tried setting a basketball on fire. Said something about roasting marshmallows?" The counselor narrows his eyes and looks up at the ceiling, trying to remember.

"That sounds like him." Castiel says quietly.

"You gonna keep interrupting or…?" Dean growls. Castiel pats his hand, another warning not to upset the counselor, who is probably used to frustrated teenagers.

"Yeah, sorry. One last time."

"Thank you."

* * *

**Monday morning on the first day of October:**

If Castiel never avoided Dean at school, he did now.

"I'm sorry." Dean apologized to him when he finally managed to find Castiel in the huge school. The blue-eyed boy glanced at Dean quickly before continuing to pull books out of his locker. Dean stood there like an idiot, and looked around, waiting for Castiel's answer.

"It's fine." Castiel said finally. He was lying. Only a second after Dean had let himself out of Castiel's house on Saturday, Balthazar was throwing a fit, yelling bloody hells at the top of his lung and cursing Dean in ways Castiel never knew was possible.

"No. I puked on your boyfriend's shoes."

"It's fine, Dean."

"No it's not."

"It's not your fault." Castiel paused and put a fake thinking face on. "Actually it is." He hurried to get his class papers, knowing that Dean was the type who would continue to apologize until absolutely sure he was forgiven. Castiel found the whole situation hilarious actually, but his annoyance grew steadily as Dean continued to admit his faults.

"At least let me repay him or something. I could take an extra shift at my job." Dean insisted.

"Dean, those shoes probably cost more than the world's dirtiest prostitute."

"You're kidding."

"I don't kid." Castiel shut his locker rather harshly and walked away. He could sense Dean's presence behind him and sighed when Dean spoke again.

"He hates me now doesn't he?" he asked.

"I don't think he's particularly fond of you at this moment. But he'll get over it."

"I don't even know him and he hates me." Dean sighed.

"Stop being such a little bi-bitch." Castiel stammered and walked into a classroom. Dean entered behind him and the teacher tried to usher him out.

"Well, what about you?" Dean asked. "One second." He flashed his killer smile to the teacher.

"What about me?" Castiel set his books down on the table and faced Dean.

"You're not mad at me too are you? I didn't mean it."

"Just consider yourself lucky I offered to be your designated driver this time." Castiel answered.

"Well, I didn't ask you to paddle my ass back to shore or anything."

"I'm saying you should try to control your drinking from now on, Dean."

"Okay, save the lesson, Castiel. I have parents for that." Dean said a little more harshly than he meant. The warning bell rang, signaling one minute until first period. Castiel narrowed his eyes.

"You should get to class, Dean." He told him and flipped through a folder, looking for nonexistent notes and hoping Dean would get the intimation that he was being dismissed.

Dean jumped off the desk with a grunt and made his way through the crowd of students trailing into the classroom, Castiel's eyes boring holes into his back.

* * *

**Sometime in May in a dirty school counselor's office:**

"Wait, when was this?" The counselor asks. Dean lets out an exaggerated sigh and slumps in his chair. "Sorry, Dean. One more. I promise."

"Last week of September? Maybe?" Castiel answers.

"Yeah, that sounds 'bout right." Dean says. He raises his eyebrows.

"They were already selling Halloween decorations."

"Welcome to America, Cas."

* * *

**Monday morning, second period, the first day of October:**

"By the way, your brother is lovely. Quite the charm." Dean ridiculed, sliding into the seat next to Castiel's in their English class after Henriksen's lecture.

"My brot—Gabriel? When did you see him?"

"I left my phone at your place, so I swung by to pick it up. Then he answered the door, called me a stripper, said you were out, and apparently, I'm his new best friend."

"A stri—Dean why didn't you just call? You can't just show up to peoples' house uninvited."

"Dude, did you not just hear what I said?" Dean raised his hands in emphasis and Castiel turned his attention to the board, where FIRST 6 WEEKS PROJECT was written in white chalk.

"Shit." Dean breathed.

"Exactly, Mr. Winchester." The class turned to look at him and Castiel buried his head in his hands.

"Now, I'm going to assign you partners—stop sighing. I hate grading them as much as you hate doing them, but I promise you guys, this will be fun." Henriksen assured them in his teacher voice.

"Ash you'll be with Benny, Castiel with Dean," Castiel made a sound of protest as Henriksen went down the list. "Ed with Garth, Jo with Kevin, and so on. I hope you are all smart enough to know the alphabet, because I don't have time to go through all this." He threw the paper behind him and it floated in the air for a moment before settling on the ground.

"With your partner," he continued, "you are going to make a poster about right and wrong choices. Use text evidence people. Text evidence from a book, a movie, I don't give a crap. This is English class. Text evidence, you hear me? That goes for you Fitzgerald." Henriksen shouted at Garth, and the class laughed again.

"Fitzgerald _the fourth_." He corrected and adjusted his glasses, which only made the class laugh even more.

Henriksen explained the project for the rest of the class period, all the while Castiel made sure Dean took careful notes.

"I got it. I got it." Dean said, brushing Castiel's hand off his notebook for the third time.

"No, Dean. He said the poster needs to be twenty-two by twenty-eight. Not—I can't even read that."

"Then how do you know it's wrong?"

"Because that's clearly a three." Castiel pointed to a mark on his paper and Dean sighed, scratched it out, and wrote _22x28_ next to it.

"And it's due on the fifth of October. This Friday." Castiel said.

"Yeah, I know."

"Well, it's not written on the paper!"

"Well, it is in my mind!" Dean argued and Castiel scowled, turning away.

"You had better not forget, Dean."

The bell rang, signaling lunch, also known as Dean's favorite time of the day.

"_You say stop, and I say go, go, go_." Henriksen sang, motioning for everyone to leave the classroom.

Dean followed Castiel out, and then stopped abruptly when Castiel turned around.

"What now?"

"Dean, I need to get a good grade on this. Okay? I have early college applications I need to fill out and they're not going to accept me with an F on my report card." Castiel looked at him with big blue eyes. Dean sighed.

"Fine. You want me to come over? We'll watch a movie in a total non date-y way and you'll write down the right things and I'll write down the wrong." Dean said and turned away.

"You're like a child, Dean. You don't know right from wrong." Castiel scoffed, but Dean could hear the smile in his tone. Dean faced him again.

"Point taken. I'll be at your place Wednesday at six after practice, capiche?"

"Why not yours? Gabriel might have the wrong idea and Balthazar…" Castiel trailed off.

"Because you have a bigger television. _And_ it's in HD. Can I go now?" Dean asked, stomach grumbling.

"Yes. Go." Castiel waved him off and walked in the opposite direction towards the library.


End file.
